


rich taste

by wolfsupremacist



Category: EXO (Band), Korean Actor RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Chaebol, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-08-02 07:49:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16301003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfsupremacist/pseuds/wolfsupremacist
Summary: junmyeon is the only thing money can't buy, but he's the only thing jisoo really wants





	rich taste

He is wearing his favorite suit, black thin-stripe wool with an embroidered moth at the sleeve. It’s double breasted with peak lapels, an embroidered poppy along the interior of the jacket. He’s had it tailored, _obviously_ , because what kind of scrub would show up in an untailored suit?

Certainly not him.

It fits him like a glove, and he pairs it with a powder blue dress shirt, a collar of gold lurex. It’s a little flashy, especially when he tops it all off with his rings, but he’s never minded being a little flashy. Wealth that you can’t brag about is no wealth at all.

The event is being hosted by another rich family in an art gallery, and as he arrives, throwing his keys to the valet, he sees a bunch of boring people that he’s going to have to pretend to listen to. At least there will be champagne, he thinks. That’s the best part about art gallery events: Moët.

He walks through the doors without stopping to answer any of the people who throw bows like roses in his direction. Immediately, he flags down a server who scuttles over to hand him one of the flute glasses. Jisoo reaches into his pocket, slides him a crisp 100,000 won note.

“If you see me with an empty glass,” Jisoo says, “the next one goes to someone else.”

“Yes, sir,” the kid stutters, eyes wide. “Thank you, sir.”

Jisoo walks around like he owns the place because in all honesty, if he wanted to, he _could_ own the place. Still, art doesn’t interest him. At least, not in the same way that cars, clothes, jewelry, and pretty boys do.

Speaking of pretty boys, he thinks, smiling to himself…

He wanders over to where Junmyeon stands, staring up at a Kim Yu Jung fresco, one of his favorites, Jisoo knows. He wonders why he doesn’t just buy the damn thing instead of staring at it whenever he gets the chance, but Junmyeon’s always been an annoying enigma, so Jisoo doesn’t really care to find out.  

Jisoo stands next to Junmyeon, both of them silently staring the painting, until Jisoo chances a glance at him. He looks as stunning as ever, hair slicked back at the sides but coiffed messily at the front. He’s wearing Louis Vuitton, Jisoo notes, which is interesting. Usually, he sticks to Dior. The tie is ugly, dark navy, embroidered with a palm tree and a monkey. He still manages to make it look good. It matches the suit at least, a deep navy, a crisp white dress shirt underneath. His shoes are ostentatious, a black velvet slipper with an upside-down LV stitched across them in orange-gold.

He looks stupid. Jisoo wants to fuck him so bad.

“Good to see you,” Jisoo says.

Junmyeon turns and, when he realizes who is staring back at him, shoots Jisoo a look of disdain.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” he sneers.

Jisoo looks down at his attire, down to the shiny black tip of his suede and lizard skin boots, before looking back up.

“I think I look good,” Jisoo says.

“It’s fucking Gucci. Tacky shit,” he sneers again, and Jisoo wishes like hell he could wipe that look off his face the way he wants to. But instead, Jisoo’s arm is wrenched forward so Junmyeon can look at the moth on his jacket, and he nearly spills the champagne he’s holding. “Not even the new Gucci. This is fucking 2017 shit.”

“You have a good eye,” Jisoo praises.

“No shit,” Junmyeon says.

“For someone with no taste, I mean,” Jisoo says.

Junmyeon throws his head back and laughs loudly for effect.

“Louis?” Jisoo asks, looking Junmyeon up and down, before he decides to let Junmyeon have a little fun of his own. He fingers at the sleeve of Junmyeon’s suit jacket. “Haven’t seen this yet.”

He immediately moves, and he takes the bait.  

“It’s their summer collection,” Junmyeon says, staring at his fingernails like they’re the most interesting things in the world. “They sent it to me.”

“What are you, an influencer?” Jisoo asks.

“I have three million instagram followers,” Junmyeon says. “Yes, you idiot. Of course I am.”

“Are you gonna start doing ads?” Jisoo mocks. “Am I gonna have to scroll past you drinking skinny tea?”

“I’m already skinny,” Junmyeon says. “And I don’t need ad money. If you haven’t been paying attention, I have more money than God.”

“But not more than me,” Jisoo smiles.

Junmyeon rolls his eyes, takes the champagne glass from Jisoo’s hand.

“Enjoy it for the moment,” Junmyeon says, and he drains the champagne in one long pull, Jisoo’s eyes trained on the movement of Junmyeon’s throat, before he hands it back to Jisoo. “We’ll be back on top by next quarter.”

Junmyeon makes to leave, but Jisoo grabs him by the wrist, pulls him close. Jisoo knows people are watching. Knows they can see. Knows they’ll talk, gossip about what’s going on between the two richest heirs in Seoul, the ones that treat Yeouido and Gangnam like their own personal playground. That’s part of what makes it so hot.  

“You can get on top anytime you want,” Jisoo says, lips so close to Junmyeon’s ear that he could kiss it if he wanted.

But he doesn’t want to. Not yet, at least. Foreplay is important.

Their foreplay, a very specific kind, starts with Junmyeon stalking off in a huff, probably to leave the event early. An event which his father sponsored.

Jisoo takes great pride in the way that he can get under Kim Junmyeon’s skin, only because Kim Junmyeon is so deep under his.

 

₩

 

They’ve known each other since they were kids.

Rather, they’ve known _of_ each other since they were kids.

Jisoo’s father hated Junmyeon’s father. And so Jisoo was taught to hate Junmyeon. Instructed to hate him. Told to.

Jisoo was never very good at following directions, of course. There’s no fun in it.  

They first met, officially, when he was sixteen years old. Jisoo was trained for all imaginable situations, but wasn’t trained for the way the bored look on Junmyeon’s face would attract him, wasn’t trained for the way that his heart leapt when he saw Junmyeon pull a flask from his suit pocket.

Jisoo made his way over.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

Junmyeon all but ignored him, continuing to sip from the flask.

“What does it look like?” Junmyeon said.

Jisoo looked around, but all of the adults were busy around them, talking about whatever they talked about. Jisoo was kind of amazed. Sure, he got up to his fair share of troublemaking, but it was always well hidden.

Alcohol, drugs, blowjobs from boys who went starry-eyed when he flashed his rolex, platinum with a diamond paved dial, the one he’d gotten as a birthday present: all very careful, all well hidden from his parents and anyone who might give a fuck.

It had never occurred to Jisoo that he could get away with it in plain sight. The thought sent a thrill through him, gave him something akin to a headrush. Was it the threat of getting caught? Or the knowledge that, even if someone did notice, nothing bad would come of it?

He was a chaebol heir. He’s been untouchable since he was fucking born.

“Can I have some?” Jisoo asked.

Junmyeon sized him up, eyes sliding up and down his body and then back up again.

“You’re Jisoo,” Junmyeon commented.

“You’re Junmyeon,” Jisoo said.

“We don’t like each other,” Junmyeon said plainly.

Jisoo wasn’t so sure about that on his end, not with the way Junmyeon’s bottom lip pouted.

“No,” Jisoo said anyway, always ready and willing to play along. “We don’t.”

Junmyeon pouted again, something Jisoo was learning was more of a constant than a marker of any emotion, before handing him the flask.

Jisoo knocked it back, fighting a grimace at the taste. He might be the richest teenager in Seoul, but soju was more his speed. Whisky tastes like garbage.

“Dalmore?” Jisoo asked.

Junmyeon scoffed.

“Glenlivet?” Jisoo tried again.

“Duh,” Junmyeon said. “50 year, single malt.”

Jisoo knew it was a subtle flex. A bottle cost upwards of 25 million. He nodded like he could appreciate it, even though he couldn’t. Whisky is trash, and money meant nothing to him.

“My dad has a bottle of that Yamazaki special edition,” Jisoo said, flexing right back. “40 year. But it’s smooth as anything.”

 _There,_ he thought. If Junmyeon had done his homework, and Jisoo was almost certain that he had, he’d balk at it. 25 million? Try 100 million, motherfucker.

But Junmyeon didn’t react much, just blinked and nodded. He would be a tougher nut to bust than Jisoo originally thought.

 

₩

 

Over the years, Jisoo found out what made Junmyeon tick. It was not hard. Junmyeon was and is easily riled: he doesn’t like being outdone, shown up.

Jisoo lives to outdo, lives to show up.

Junmyeon got a BMW 7 Series for his 19th birthday.

A couple weeks later, Jisoo bought a Mercedes Benz S-Class. Not because he liked the look of it, of course. It was a fucking Sedan. It looked _sensible._ If he was buying it for himself, he’d get a bright red Corvette. No, he got it for the _price_ _tag_ , for the way Junmyeon stared like he knew exactly what it cost.

Junmyeon was 21 when he went to Fashion Week in London for the first time, and Jisoo was 19 when he went to Paris. He sat front row at the Dior show, sunglasses on, head dipped down like he was trying not to be seen. Afterwards, he mingled, got drunk. He got pictures with Karl Lagerfeld, Anna Wintour. He was seen. He made sure of it.

Jisoo was 23 when he read the open criticisms of Junmyeon’s partying, and when photos rolled in from Dispatch, Junmyeon smiling drunkenly as he walked through Incheon International, Jisoo realized he needed to do something drastic.

He took the family 777 and flew to Maui with two dozen of his best (re: richest) friends without telling anyone, and they spent a month there, letting their phones die and letting the liquor flow. He passed most of the time in a haze, a cloud of weed smoke around him and someone’s lips wrapped around his dick. It was usually a girl, which wasn’t really what he wanted, but a mouth's a mouth, he figured. He thrusted up idly anyway, holding them by the hair as he imagined Junmyeon between his legs instead.

Jisoo was ceremoniously dragged back to Korea by the ear and was given a tongue lashing for the ages by his father. It was well worth it for the look on Junmyeon’s face when he showed up to the next industry party with bloodshot eyes and a messy collar.

The media started calling him the worst first son. He wore the title much like he would wear a crown: naturally.

 

₩

 

“What are you trying to prove?” Junmyeon asked.

They were at a fundraiser, one of those ten million won-per-plate dinners to raise money for something or other. Cancer, maybe? It was irrelevant to Jisoo.  

He’d gone to the bathroom, popped an Ativan. It was dangerous, especially in front of an attendant, but Jisoo didn’t care. He washed his hands in the sink, waiting for the confrontation he knew was sure to come. He knew Junmyeon like the back of his hand.

Sure enough, the door swung open, Junmyeon following him in and slipping money to the kid, who scrambled out of the room.

Junmyeon was about to turn 25, about to come into his trust fund money. Jisoo wouldn’t be able to touch his for another two years, but it didn’t matter. The trust fund is, as it always was, a formality. He was never denied anything, not once in his fucking life.

“I’m not trying to prove anything,” Jisoo said innocently.

“Listen,” Junmyeon said, crowding into Jisoo’s space dangerously. “I’ve been doing this longer than you. I’m better at it than you. So don’t fucking try shit with me. I own this fucking city.”

“You don’t look at the numbers much, do you?” Jisoo said. Jisoo didn’t either, but he had someone to keep him informed, at least.  

“Fuck the numbers,” Junmyeon said. “You think that shit matters?”

“Yeah,” Jisoo said, and he stepped forward, closing the barely-there gap. Their chests touching. It was so hot that Jisoo could feel himself drowning in it. “I think it matters.”

“You’re wrong,” Junmyeon said. “You know what matters? Power. And you know who has all the power? Me.”

“I think you mean your daddy,” Jisoo sneered.

But Junmyeon remained unphased, like he expected it, like he had already written the scene, and he was just waiting for Jisoo to read all his lines, hit all his marks.

“No,” he said. “He has the money. He has the business. But I have the power. You wanna know why?”

“Why?” Jisoo asked, playing along.

“Because I know things,” Junmyeon said. “I know everyone’s secrets. And that means I get what I want when I want.”

“Oh yeah?” Jisoo said, knowing he was goading Junmyeon into a fight. He didn’t care; he was itching for it.

“Yeah,” Junmyeon said.

“So what do you want?” Jisoo asked. “And what do I have to do with any of it?”

“Haven’t I been clear enough? I want you to stay out of my way,” Junmyeon said.

“Okay,” Jisoo said. “Why should I? What do you have on me?”

“You’re gay,” Junmyeon said smugly. “And you don’t want that to get out.”

Jisoo guessed that Junmyeon thought that would scare him. And maybe it would have, if he was any less rich.

It didn’t scare him. It sent a shiver down his spine.

He was discrete, but only to an extent. And though it was a well-known secret in their circles, knowing that Junmyeon knew, knowing that he’d probably heard the stories of what happened when Jisoo found himself at noraebangs, in the back rooms of jjimjilbangs, or in the private lounges of upscale bars? _That_ was electric.

His hand found its way under Junmyeon’s suit jacket, rested on the curve of Junmyeon’s waist. Junmyeon’s eyes shot down, shot back up again, and he opened his mouth, surely to object.

But before he could say anything, Jisoo captured his lips in a kiss that was messy and mean from the very start, just like them. Junmyeon’s hands flew to Jisoo’s neck, and it felt like he was trying to push him away while simultaneously pulling him in, fingers tense and nails digging into the skin. Jisoo bit Junmyeon’s bottom lip between his teeth, bit and pulled on it, and was delighted to hear Junmyeon’s answering moan. Better than he could have dreamed. He licked into Junmyeon’s mouth, the hand he had on Junmyeon’s hip sliding back to cup his ass.

He pulled their hips together, grinded against him. Long enough to feel Junmyeon’s cock hard against his own, long enough to feel Junmyeon start to come apart at the seams in his hands.

Jisoo pulled back, leaving Junmyeon breathless, mouth wet and red.

“Loosen up,” Jisoo said before sealing it with another peck to Junmyeon’s lips, “babe.”

He left the bathroom feeling victorious, so he handed the attendant another bill to go along with the first. When he was sat back at his table, he saw Junmyeon exit the bathroom, running his hand through his hair, playing with his belt.

 

₩

 

It went on like that for a while. Years, even.

Jisoo pushed whenever he could. They fought sometimes. They kissed sometimes. They talked shit _all_ the time, behind each other’s backs and to each other’s faces.

Junmyeon was the only thing his money couldn’t buy. It was the most intoxicating part of Jisoo’s life, which was saying something.  

Junmyeon was stuck up and tight-laced unless he was drunk or high or some combination of the two, and Jisoo ran with a slightly different crowd, their circles barely overlapping, so he didn’t see the other side of him too much. Jisoo had people loyal to him, and Junmyeon had people loyal to _him_. There aren’t too many people dumb enough to try to play both sides.

Minho is one of the people dumb enough.

Jisoo knows him well, but what he knows better than well is that Minho is far closer to Junmyeon than he is to Jisoo. Still, Minho is charming and a guaranteed good time, and he always cozies his way up to Jisoo when he has the chance.

And what can he say? Jisoo’s weak to dark eyes, full lips, and deep voices.

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” Minho says over the din of the club. “Where’ve you been hiding?”

“I never hide,” Jisoo laughs. “Maybe _you’ve_ been hiding.”

“No, you know me,” Minho says, scanning the people in front of their booth. “I’m always out in the open.”

Minho throws an arm around the back of the seat, around Jisoo’s shoulders, turning his attention back on Jisoo after having found no one richer or more interesting.

“What have you been up to, baby?” Minho asks.

“You follow me on instagram,” Jisoo says. “You know.”

“Yeah,” Minho laughs, “but I wanna hear it from you.”

“I’ve been fucking models,” Jisoo says, and he leans over, lips against Minho’s ear. “Wanna be next?”

He licks at the lobe of Minho’s ear, kisses down the side of his neck. Minho tilts his head to the side, gives him access and a moan in return.

“You’re good at that,” Minho breathes out, so quiet Jisoo can barely hear him. “But I can’t.”

“Why not?” Jisoo asks, wetly sucking a mark to Minho’s neck. “I’d make it worth your while.”

“You gonna get me a cover?” Minho asks, giggling.

“Yeah, what do you want?” Jisoo asks. “Vogue?”

“Yeah,” Minho moans. “I want Vogue.”

He turns in the booth, body facing Jisoo’s.

“But I want _real_ Vogue,” Minho says.

“As if Vogue Korea is fake,” Jisoo scoffs.

Minho runs a casual, stupidly nimble hand over Jisoo’s crotch, and it takes more than a little self-restraint to hold back from bucking into the touch.

“I’ve had Vogue Korea,” Minho says. “I wanna be the first. I wanna make history.”

“Hm,” Jisoo says. “Seems a little unbalanced now, doesn’t it? Now you have to make it worth _my_ while.”

“Head isn’t good enough for you?” Minho asks, cocky. “People tell me I have a good mouth.”

Jisoo runs a thumb over Minho’s slick bottom lip.

“I bet they’re right,” Jisoo says. “But I would have to make a lot of calls. Call in a bunch of favors.”

“It’s good head,” Minho says.

“You wouldn’t feel guilty?” Jisoo asks. “Not having gotten it on your merit alone?”

Minho moves, tangles his legs around one of Jisoo’s, holding it in place as he strokes over Jisoo’s hardening cock.

“I think there’s plenty of merit in everything I do,” Minho says. “Besides, if we all got things based on what we’d earned, what we _deserved_ , do you think we’d both be where we are right now?”

Jisoo doesn’t have an answer, so he kisses Minho properly, tongue and teeth.

“Come on,” Jisoo says, taking Minho by the hand and pulling them both to their feet. “I’ll get us a room.”

 

₩

 

He gets the text from an unknown number, but he immediately knows it’s Junmyeon. Jisoo doesn’t know how to do much, but he knows how to read context clues at the very least.

 

 

> _you fucked minho?_

He smiles, types out his response:

 

 

> _jealous?_

Jisoo can practically feel the heat coming off the back of Junmyeon’s neck, and when his phone starts ringing, Jisoo grins wickedly, laying back in bed as he taps to answer.

“I’m not jealous,” Junmyeon says. “But I hope you wore a fucking condom.”

“Jesus, I thought Minho was your friend,” Jisoo says.

“He is,” Junmyeon says. “One of my best friends, actually, which is why I’m allowed to call him a slut.”

Jisoo laughs, puts his arm behind his head.

“So I’m not allowed to call him a slut?” Jisoo asks.

“No,” Junmyeon says. “I’d cut your balls off.”

He laughs again, loving this intensely.

“You know, you’re kinda hot when you’re defensive,” Jisoo says.

“Please,” Junmyeon scoffs. “You think I’m hot all the time.”

“Yeah,” Jisoo says. “I do.”

“Shut up,” Junmyeon says. “You’re a fucking idiot.”

“I probably am an idiot,” Jisoo says, “but you’re the one who wants to fuck me.”

“I don’t want to fuck you,” Junmyeon says.

“You can call me a lot of things, but at least you can’t call me a liar,” Jisoo says. “I don’t think I could say the same about you.”

“You think you’re so cute,” Junmyeon says.

“I know I’m cute,” Jisoo replies.

“You’re fucking _infuriating_ is what you are,” Junmyeon says.

Jisoo hums, and Junmyeon huffs out a breath, and for a minute or two, they just sit there in silence, listening to the other breathe.

“You should come over,” Jisoo says.

“Come over?” Junmyeon asks, laughing. “For what?”

“To play Mahjong,” Jisoo says.

“Shut up,” Junmyeon says.

“I’m just saying, it’s been a while since we made out,” Jisoo says. “Not since that last fundraiser.”

Jisoo remembers it well, as he was beginning to keep track of when and where he and Junmyeon kissed. The last time was out back by the pool of the hotel, ballroom festivities long forgotten. They were raising money for the ballet program, he thinks, and Jisoo let Junmyeon put his thigh between Jisoo’s legs. If they kissed for even a minute longer, Jisoo thought he would have been able to come, just like that.

“You _just_ fucked Minho,” Junmyeon says. “What makes you think I’d wanna taste his fucking cum in your mouth?”

“I brush my teeth really well. Also, I don’t swallow,” Jisoo says casually.

“Sort of a bitch move,” Junmyeon says.

“Ah, what can I say?” Jisoo says. “I’m sort of a bitch.”

“Lose my fucking number, please,” Junmyeon says.

“Baby, I fucking love it when you talk dirty,” Jisoo says.

The only answer he gets is the dial-tone, and Jisoo smiles as he taps “New Contact”, adding _myeonie_ with a heart next to it before rolling over in bed to touch himself, mind on Junmyeon’s mouth.

 

₩

 

Jisoo’s role in the company has evolved over the years. And by evolved, he means that he’s gotten a bigger office to jerk off in. Still, his father does whatever he wants because it’s his company, so when he bursts through Jisoo’s doors, Jisoo’s secretary hot on his heels, Jisoo is not surprised. It’s always something with him.  

Jisoo’s father walks over to his desk, hands flat on the mahogany.

“What are you fucking doing?” he asks.

“I’m doing what I do best,” Jisoo says.

His father rolls his eyes.

“Will you ever straighten up?” his father asks.

“Unlikely,” Jisoo says.

“Just once I would like to wake up and see you taking initiative instead of using your secretary to try and duck out of responsibilities. You _will_ be at that meeting today,” his father says, jabbing his index finger into Jisoo’s forehead.

“I’d just be a liability,” Jisoo says.

“You’ve always been a liability,” his father tells him, and if Jisoo cared a little more, it would sting. “But Youngho’s son will be in attendance which means so will you.”

Jisoo’s heart jumps at the thought. He’s never seen Junmyeon in a work suit before, always something flashy or black-tie. He wonders if he’s equally elaborate in a work environment. He wonder if Junmyeon wears a ring. It’s kinda hot, the thought of getting on his knees to kiss at it...of course, the fantasy always ends with Jisoo flipping him over and fucking him raw from behind, but that’s neither here nor there.

“Okay,” Jisoo says.

“Okay?” his father asks. “I don’t have to threaten to take you off the will?”

“Ah,” Jisoo says, “I like working sometimes.”

His father eyes him carefully.

“What’s going on?” he asks. “What are you planning?”

“Nothing,” Jisoo says. “Just excited to help out my dad for a change.”

Jisoo’s father leans over the desk menacingly, like a dark cloud rolling in.

“You do anything out of the ordinary,” he says lowly, “you do anything to fuck this up for me, and I will do everything in my power to make you miserable for the rest of your life.”

 _You already make me miserable,_ Jisoo thinks, but he holds it back.

“Got it,” Jisoo says. “I’ll be good.”

 

₩

 

Junmyeon walks in with an air of confidence that Jisoo knows well, and it’s captivating, the way he moves and the way he’s dressed. He looks like he owns the place. And he will soon, Jisoo figures. He wears Armani, if Jisoo’s eyes can be trusted. Soft blue-black wool tailored to his body. He makes anything look good. Jisoo wants desperately to peel it off of him.

He sits down at the table without looking down to see Jisoo, so it takes a moment and then another moment before he’s settled enough. Jisoo speeds up that moment, knocking his ring against the table once and then twice, enough for Junmyeon to follow the sound. When they lock eyes, Jisoo is delighted by the disdain painted across his face.

“Hi,” Jisoo says.

Junmyeon doesn’t answer, looks away. Jisoo considers that an early win.

When their fathers shake hands, it’s tense, but not in the fun tense way that he interacts with Junmyeon. It must suck to be straight, Jisoo thinks.

“Well,” Jisoo’s father says. “Shall we?”

They both take their seats, and Jisoo watches as a projector is set up, put into place, and a video call is established. Jisoo’s kind of oblivious, but he’d have to be brain-dead to not recognize the face that pops up on the screen: it’s one of the ministers. The Minister of Trade, Industry, and Energy.

“Morning,” he says, busy with a cup of coffee in his hand.

The room answers, everyone bowing their heads quickly.

“I’ll have to keep this short,” the minister says. “I’m on my way to another meeting. But I assume you both have received the briefs for the project?”

“Yes,” Jisoo’s father says, and Junmyeon’s father nods along.

“You both have your hands in wind and solar production,” the minister says. “And we’re looking to expand nationally in renewables. To be clear, this would be a large grant, and we’re searching for the most efficient, most productive, and most _innovative_ company.”

Jisoo shoots a look at Junmyeon, and he shoots a look back.

“A little friendly competition never hurt anyone, right?” the minister smiles. “Alright, thank you all for your attention this afternoon. Proposals will be due at the end of next quarter, right before the summit. Do something to wow us, gentlemen.”

 _End of next quarter_ , Jisoo thinks. Five short months.

The call ends, and everyone slumps back into their chairs for a moment.

“Come on,” Jisoo’s father calls him. “Lots of work to be done.”

Jisoo gets up, dragged to the door by his father, but he turns around and sees light in Junmyeon’s eyes. Hot, waving electric light. Jisoo’s a stupid fucking moth.

“I’ll call a car,” Jisoo says as he crosses back to the table.

“Whatever,” his father says, mind already working. Jisoo knows him. “Don’t get back too late. You’re supposed to at least pretend to work.”

Jisoo watches him leave, watches everyone filter out, and he holds Junmyeon’s gaze as the trickle out, until the meeting room is completely empty save for the two of them.

“What are you still doing here?” Junmyeon asks.

He cross to the other side of the room, stands right in front of Jisoo. It’d be so easy to pull him in, but Jisoo waits. Plays it cool. There’s always an opportunity with Junmyeon. He just has to wait for it.

“Just wanted to see your ass as you walked away,” Jisoo says, and he leans back, rests on the table top.

“You’re such a fucking moron,” Junmyeon sneers.

“Could be,” Jisoo says.

Junmyeon rolls his eyes.

“Same question,” Jisoo says, folding his arms. “What are _you_ doing here?”

Junmyeon’s eyes shift, and his confidence falters for a second.

“I-I,” he stutters. And that’s enough for Jisoo.

He reaches out, pulls Junmyeon by the hand until he’s stumbling forward, stood between Jisoo’s legs, hands resting on Jisoo’s chest.

“What the fuck,” Junmyeon says.

“Isn’t this better?” Jisoo asks, arms winding around Junmyeon’s waist.

“No,” Junmyeon says. “This is the worst.”

“If this isn’t why you’re still here,” Jisoo says, and he tilts his head down, pressing a chaste kiss to Junmyeon’s waiting lips, “then why?”

Junmyeon looks into Jisoo’s eyes, and there’s so much heat that Jisoo thinks they might burn to death in it, but then Junmyeon closes the gap, mouth open against Jisoo’s. It is angry from the start, harsh and brutal as Junmyeon’s hands wind in Jisoo’s hair, tugging it and directing him where he wants. His hands slide down to Junmyeon’s hips, and they grind against each other as they kiss. Jisoo wants desperately to slip a hand down to cup Junmyeon’s ass, but he doesn’t know how far this goes, doesn’t want to chance it. He just flips up Junmyeon’s suit jacket, presses his nails against the fabric of the dress suit, and swallows Junmyeon’s gasp.

When they finally pull back from each other, a war for the ages, Junmyeon has a grin on his face. Jisoo feels himself smiling back.

“What are you smiling for?” Jisoo asks, nipping and biting at Junmyeon’s lips.

“I’m just really looking forward to winning that grant,” Junmyeon says. “And watching as your stocks take a shit as a result.”

“You really think you’ll get it?” Jisoo asks.

“That’s the only way this story plays out,” Junmyeon says, and he crowds into Jisoo’s space. “Me winning. And you losing.”

“What are you gonna do?” Jisoo asks, leaning down, licking at Junmyeon’s lips. “When you win?”

“I’m gonna buy you a ball gag,” Junmyeon says.

“I didn’t know you were kinky,” Jisoo says.

“Anything to get you to shut the fuck up, baby,” Junmyeon says.

It’s wave after wave, insults and affections, and Jisoo loves when they crash down on him.

 

₩

 

He starts working a bit harder after the meeting. His dad watches him carefully, warily, as he makes suggestions in meetings. _When is the other shoe gonna drop,_ his father’s face says. But Jisoo’s in it to win it. He wants to shove Junmyeon’s face in his victory the way he wants to shove Junmyeon’s face into his pillow.

By the end of the week, he’s exhausted, after having worked harder than he ever had before. That isn’t saying a lot, but still...

It’s getting late, but he calls up Joohyuk anyway, ready to blow off steam.

“It’s weird,” Joohyuk says. “Normally this is you on a Tuesday.”

“I worked this week,” Jisoo says proudly.

“Welcome to the real world,” Joohyuk says sardonically, but Jisoo just cackles.

When they walk into the club and get a table, he can immediately tell something is off. Normally, people swarm to him, looking to mooch off his bottle service. And still, some barnacles show up, smiling and laughing and begging for top-shelf booze, but nowhere near the normal amount.

“Joohyuk,” he says, and Joohyuk turns.

“What?” he asks.

“Is there someone here?” Jisoo asks. “Someone famous or something?”

Joohyuk shakes his head, like he’s totally done with Jisoo’s shit.

“You’re an idiot,” he says.

“What?”

“It’s Junmyeon,” Joohyuk says. “He’s right over there.”

He points over to the mass of humanity, moving under purple and blue lights. Jisoo looks through them, sifts with his eyes, but he can’t seem to spot Junmyeon among the throng.

“It’s his birthday party, hyung,” Joohyuk says.

“Oh, no shit,” Jisoo says. “I didn’t know.”

He didn’t even know it was Junmyeon’s birthday. He thinks back, back to the first time they kissed. They were younger, then. And it puts into perspective how long they’ve been doing this bullshit. Making out, on the edge of a fist-fight.

“I thought that’s why we were here,” Joohyuk says. “I thought it was part of your lovers quarrel.”

“We’re not lovers,” Jisoo says.

“Not yet, at least,” Joohyuk scoffs, and he takes a shot of tequila, all nice and lined up in front of them.

“He thinks I’m scum,” Jisoo says, and honestly, it’s a little hot to say it aloud.

“If he thought you were scum, I doubt he’d be sticking his tongue down your throat,” Joohyuk says. “Do you ever even fuck around? Hands? Mouths?”

Jisoo hums. Keeps staring at the group, writhing, desperate to get a piece of Junmyeon.

“No,” he says. “We don’t.”

“I don’t get you,” Joohyuk says.

“Nah,” Jisoo says. “I don’t get me either.”

 

₩

 

He gets pleasantly drunk before he manages to catch his first glimpse of Junmyeon, and by that time, Junmyeon is a fucking wreck. He’s dancing on the table, and he accidentally kicks over a bottle of soju, sending it spilling out until someone quickly grabs it and then him.

Junmyeon is glowing, bright and beautiful, and he is laughing stupidly as he’s hauled down off the table. Jisoo gets up.

“Where are you going?” Joohyuk asks, staring at his phone until he looks up and follows Jisoo’s eyeline. “Oh. God.”

“Shut up,” Jisoo says, and he walks over.

When Junmyeon looks up, a smile flashes across his face for a second before he pouts.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

“I’m here to say happy birthday,” Jisoo says.

“You’re gonna try to ruin my party,” Junmyeon says.

“Nah,” Jisoo says. “No fun in that.”

“Are you sure?” Junmyeon says. “You find a lot of fun in my demise.”

“It’s a mutual demise I enjoy,” Jisoo says.

“Is that what you call doggy style?” Junmyeon asks. “Mutual demise?”

He cackles at his joke, and it makes Jisoo crack a smile.

“Can we talk somewhere quieter?” Jisoo shouts over the music.

“Like where?” Junmyeon asks. “Out back where you can kill me with no witnesses?”

Jisoo pulls him up by the hand and into his embrace, and before he can get a word in, Jisoo pulls him off towards the quietest place he can find: the hallway next to the bathrooms.

“This is gross,” Junmyeon complains. "Aren't we too old for this?"

“I just wanted to say happy birthday properly,” Jisoo says.

Junmyeon leans back against the wall, already knowing what to expect. His eyes are glazed, and he might be high, but Jisoo doesn’t care. Just wants him and wants him desperately.

He surges forward, licks Junmyeon’s mouth open as he splits his legs open with one of his thighs. They grind into it, gears just a bit too big for each other, and Jisoo lets all his moans pass into Junmyeon’s mouth, listens to Junmyeon echo them back. It’s dirty. It’s wonderful. It’s all his.

“Oh,” Junmyeon says, looking down at where their bodies touch. He starts to shake. “Oh, sh--, Ji--”

“Shit,” Jisoo says, taking a step back, right on the fucking edge of orgasm.

Jisoo takes him in: he looks hungry, looks ravenous. Looks stunning, looks better than the best thing Jisoo’s ever bought. His hair is tousled, his lips are red, eyes dark with makeup. And he looks like a fucking slut. Messy.

“Wh--” Junmyeon starts, but he shuts his eyes. “Whatever.”

“You should call your friends,” Jisoo says. “Make sure they get you home safe. You’re too fucked up. You shouldn’t be out like this.”

“Fuck off,” Junmyeon says. “I can take care of myself.”

Jisoo lets his eyes run down Junmyeon’s body, over the erection pressing against the front of his pants.

“Are you gonna touch yourself later?” Jisoo wonders aloud, bold with the alcohol on Junmyeon’s tongue.

“Yeah,” Junmyeon says. “Since you left me hanging.”

“Rethink my offer,” Jisoo says.

“What offer?” Junmyeon asks.

“To play Mahjong,” Jisoo says.

“Fuck off,” Junmyeon says, and he stalks away, swaying back to his group of friends. And Jisoo watches him go.

 

₩

 

They play that game for quite a while, the first month of the project passing like nothing, and they stretch the rubber band out between them as far as it’ll fuckin’ go. He’s not dumb. He knows it’s gonna snap eventually. He just doesn’t know when.

When his father sets up a meeting between them, he knows. He knows he’s gonna fucking snap.

“Try and get some information out of him,” his father says. “I know he knows what their general plan is, and if we know that, then we’ll fucking kill them.”

“Alright,” Jisoo says.

“Take this seriously,” his father tells him.

“Sure,” Jisoo says, already thinking about the look on Junmyeon’s face when this all breaks bad for him: tragic and beautiful. Jisoo smiles.  

 

₩

 

He pulls up to the restaurant in his stupidly pretty pink Lamborghini, knowing exactly how he looks in it. The restaurant is too nice for a business lunch with normal people, but Jisoo supposes they aren’t normal people, not in the slightest.

Jisoo walks to the private room, and Junmyeon is already seated.

"What is this?" Junmyeon asks. 

"I thought you knew," Jisoo says. "Business shit." 

"I don't know shit," Junmyeon says. "You don't know shit. So why are we fucking here?" 

"You don't know shit?" Jisoo asks. "I know shit." 

"Bullshit," Junmyeon scoffs. "Like they'd trust you." 

"I've been working hard," Jisoo says. 

"I'll believe it when I see it," Junmyeon says. 

"You will," Jisoo says. "When I get that grant." 

Junmyeon never backs down. That's why Jisoo likes fucking with him so much. 

They order wine, and they both drink two glasses over their lunch. Jisoo hooks his ankle around Junmyeon's under the table, and Junmyeon never moves it. Junmyeon watches Jisoo carefully, and he takes a sip of his wine, letting the Merlot play on his lips before he licks it away. Jisoo's never wanted anything more in his entire fucking life. He can feel it in his fucking tendons. 

"Junmyeon," Jisoo says. 

"What?" Junmyeon asks. 

"Come to my place," Jisoo says. 

"For a game of Mahjong?" Junmyeon asks. 

"If that's all you want," Jisoo says. 

When the waitress comes back around, Junmyeon slips cash in the check. 

"I got a car here," Junmyeon says. 

"I drove," Jisoo says. 

"Well," Junmyeon says, brushing down the edges of his suit, "lead the way." 

 

₩

 

The walk to his place is silent, and the arousal simmers in his chest, in his fingertips and in his toes. It feels like moments before an orgasm, the tense heat all through your body as they get in the elevator, the doors shutting behind them. 

Jisoo says nothing, just lets Junmyeon cross to him and take what he wants: their mouths press together messily, tongues and teeth, and Jisoo loves it, loves it madly. Wishes he could bottle the feeling and sip from it when the nights are too cold or the drugs wear off or when the money isn't enough. They lean into each other like slash marks. Forward and back, back and forward. He gets hard so fast that he goes light-headed, all the blood rushing south to where he needs it most. 

The doors chime open, and Jisoo pulls him into the penthouse, into through the threshold, through the hallways, into the bedroom before he strips off Junmyeon's clothes. His hands shake as he tosses the articles to the side, not bothering to set them gently and brush out their wrinkles. There isn't any time, Jisoo thinks. It feels like they're on borrowed minutes. 

"Come on," Junmyeon says, pulling off Jisoo's clothes. "Come on." 

Jisoo slides one wet finger, then a second into Junmyeon's body, and the way he moves is even better than Jisoo thought it would be. He is lithe, grinding onto Jisoo's hand, whining and shivering with the stimulation. 

"Look at you," Jisoo says in awe. "Fuck, look at you, baby." 

Junmyeon cries, works his hips down as Jisoo curls them and strokes at his prostate. 

"Get inside," Junmyeon says. "Come on, fuck me." 

It feels like they're trying to use the match before it burns down to nothing, and Jisoo has to try twice to roll the condom on because his hands shake so violently. Junmyeon holds the tops of his thighs to his chest, all open and spread out for Jisoo. It's all he's ever wanted. If he can't be honest now, when can he be? 

Jisoo pushes in, two fractured thrusts in before he's bottomed out, and Junmyeon sobs out a breath. 

"You feel--" Jisoo says, but he can't find words to describe it, can't figure out what he feels like besides perfection. 

Junmyeon lets go of his legs, locks his ankles around Jisoo's back as Jisoo lays down on top of him.  Junmyeon kisses him hard, fast. It's so much, all at once. He tries not to let it well in his eyes, and if it does, he can blame it on a dry spell. 

"Fuck me," Junmyeon says against his lips, goading him on. "Fuck me." 

Jisoo pumps his hips, and Junmyeon's body moves up the bed with every thrust, his cries echoing in the room. It's good, it's so fucking good, and it radiates through him like heat and light, color and sound. Delicious and on the edge of painful when they start moving against each other so hard that it feels like they're trying to scour away time.  

 

₩

 

He gets a text the following Friday. 

 

 

> _was it a one time thing?_

Jisoo types back. 

 

 

> _only if you want it to be_

Junmyeon drops him a pin to Toh Lim. 

 

 

> _eight?_

Jisoo smiles. It's--it's an appointment, he tells him. 

 

₩

 

The new sense of energy towards work stems directly from Junmyeon. They text each other little catty things throughout the work week, and on Fridays, they meet for dinner. They argue until the check arrives. They go somewhere, Jisoo's or Junmyeon's or a hotel. They fuck until they fall asleep. Until they can't fuck anymore. 

"The fuck are you doing?" Joohyuk asks. "Your dad told me you were working hard." 

"Yeah," Jisoo says. "It's kinda fun." 

"What is wrong with you?" Joohyuk says as he shakes him by the shoulders. "What have you done with my best friend?" 

"Hyung," Jisoo laughs. 

"Don't  _hyung_ me," Joohyuk says. "You're being  _nice_ , you're being a  _good person_. What the fuck happened to you?" 

Jisoo looks down at his feet. Smiles. 

"Oh," Joohyuk says. "Oh my god. It's him." 

 _Yeah,_ Jisoo thinks.  _Even though I don't want it to be, it's him._

 

₩

 

Jisoo's favorite moments, though he would never say it aloud, are the moments after. It's when Junmyeon's edges are softest, when he doesn't try to fight every little thing. They can talk about work. About friends. About drama in the family. There's a lot of that. There's so much they'd never run out. But Jisoo doesn't mind. He likes whatever Junmyeon says. 

"I didn't talk to Minho for a month," he says quietly. 

Jisoo turns over. Faces him. Junmyeon is staring at the ceiling. 

"What?" Jisoo asks. 

"After you fucked him," Junmyeon says. "I didn't talk to him for a month." 

He thinks back. Saw the flowers that Junmyeon sent for the Vogue cover. He never thought anything of it. 

"I didn't know that," Jisoo says.

"No," Junmyeon says. "I didn't want you to know." 

Jisoo gathers him in an embrace. He almost kisses Junmyeon on the forehead, but he holds it back. Maybe he shouldn't. But he does. 

 

₩

 

Jisoo walks into Junmyeon's like he fuckin' owns the place. 

"I picked up Chinese because you're a lazy fuck," Jisoo says, toeing off his shoes. "So if you don't want Chinese, you can get up off your ass and stop making me do everythi--" 

He walks into the living room, and Junmyeon is sat there with someone else. 

"Jisoo," Junmyeon says. "You know Sehun." 

 _No,_ Jisoo thinks.  _I don't know Sehun. And if I ever met him, I don't remember him._

"Hey, man," Jisoo says. "What's up?" 

"Nothing," Sehun says. 

"Right," Jisoo says, and he turns to Junmyeon. "If you guys had plans, sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt, I was just--" 

"Don't leave on my account," Sehun says. "I came over to watch a movie. It's just, I just haven't seen him in the past two and a half months. Something kept coming up." 

Sehun looks at Junmyeon who looks away. 

"Well," Jisoo says. "I bought enough for three." 

"I'll get plates then," Sehun says. 

They watch a movie on Junmyeon's couch, and Jisoo links his pinky finger with Junmyeon's. When it's over, they walk Sehun to the door where he gives Junmyeon a hug before shaking Jisoo's hand. 

"Don't be a stranger," Sehun says. 

"Yeah, I'll see you around," Jisoo says. 

The door shuts behind him, and Junmyeon presses Jisoo against it with a kiss. 

"I'm so glad he's gone," Junmyeon says. "Fuck. You look hot in sweaters." 

"Oh, this old thing?" Jisoo says. 

Junmyeon peels down the turtleneck, baring Jisoo's throat before pressing hot wet kisses to it. 

"He liked you," Junmyeon says between bite marks. "Which is funny. Because he hated you before." 

"Why did he hate me?" Jisoo asks. 

Junmyeon stops, pushes his face into Jisoo's chest, shaking with laughter. 

"Are you spreading rumors about me?" Jisoo asks. "You'll pay for that." 

"Ooh," Junmyeon says into the fabric of Jisoo's sweater. "I like paying for it." 

 

₩

 

Their legs are tangled in the sheets. 

"These are fucking nice," Junmyeon says. "Where'd you get these?" 

"I dunno," Jisoo says. "Someplace." 

"I want these," Junmyeon says, stroking his fingers over the bed-sheets covetously. 

"Blow me, and I'll give you them," Jisoo says. 

Junmyeon looks him in the eye before slithering down the bed, lips wrapped around Jisoo's cock. Jisoo comes with Junmyeon's name on his lips. 

Later, when Junmyeon is curled into Jisoo and they are sated and their sweat is dried, Jisoo whispers in his ear. 

"Wanna know a secret?" Jisoo asks. 

"Yeah," Junmyeon says. 

"I would have given you these sheets for free," he smiles. 

"Huh," Junmyeon says. "I would have sucked your dick for free." 

Jisoo feels something like--something that feels unnameable rise up from his stomach. A soft laugh pouring out of his mouth. 

"Guess we're even then," Jisoo says. 

"Yeah," Junmyeon says, snuggling into Jisoo's chest. "I guess so." 

 

₩

 

Time ticks down. One month left. Three weeks. Two weeks. One. 

Jisoo has no idea how it's all going to shake out, but the anxiety sits atop his skin like raised hairs, like goosebumps, and it's all he can hardly think about. He stays at the office way later than normal, and sometimes, he even sees the cleaning crew come in around one or two in the morning. He barely makes it to bed, barely gets his clothes off. He's never worked harder in his fucking life, and he's tired,  _bone_ tired, but it feels good. Feels right. 

"What are you gonna do?" Joohyuk asks. 

"About what?" Jisoo says. 

They toss back a shot, laying on his couch. He needs to get drunk. He needs to try to forget how Junmyeon's skin tastes. How his smiles look like sunrises. 

"About Junmyeon," Joohyuk says. "Don't you think this is, like, gonna fuck things up?" 

"Fuck what up?" Jisoo says instinctively. 

"Don't play dumb," Joohyuk says. "You're dating." 

"We're not," Jisoo says. 

"You are, and you both know it," Joohyuk says. "And if you're both still acting like you're not totally fucking in love with each other, then you're a lot dumber than I initially thought." 

 _Love,_ Jisoo thinks. Big, scary ball of thunder named  _love_. That's Junmyeon. 

"What if I lose?" Jisoo asks. 

"You keep going," Joohyuk says, and it settles Jisoo's stomach.

He'll survive. As long as he has--, no, he's right. Why not admit it? As long as he has Junmyeon, he'll be okay. 

"The better question," Joohyuk says, knocking back another shot, "is what if you win?" 

 

₩

 

They kiss, they laugh, they fuck. They pretend like everything's fine. It's not fine. Nothing's fine. 

On Junmyeon's balcony, they share a cigarette and spit the smoke into the air. Jisoo kisses the side of Junmyeon's neck, delighted to hear him gasp around the paper and tobacco.

"We should do dinner," Junmyeon says. "Thursday." 

The day before the award. Jisoo swallows. 

"Jungsik," Jisoo suggests. 

"Mm," Junmyeon wiggles happily. "Gimbap." 

"Whatever you want," Jisoo says.  

 

₩

 

They go early. They eat themselves full, they drink until they cry laughing at even the most unfunny of jokes, they make love twice, and then Jisoo drives home. They both need the sleep. It's a big day tomorrow. 

He's laying in bed when he gets the call, and he quickly slides his phone over the screen to answer. 

"What did you do?" Junmyeon asks. 

"Nothing," Jisoo says innocently. 

"I got a fucking fresco delivered," Junmyeon says. "From some very pushy gentlemen." 

"Strange," Jisoo says. 

"They told me it was from a secret admirer," Junmyeon says. "It's a fucking Kim Yu Jung fresco." 

"Ah," Jisoo says. "You like Kim Yu Jung." 

"Shut up," Junmyeon says. "Why did you do this?" 

"Do what?" Jisoo asks happily. 

The line is quiet, very quiet, so quiet that Jisoo can hear the rustle of Junmyeon's blankets. 

"Are you nervous about tomorrow?" Junmyeon asks. 

"Yeah," Jisoo says. 

"Me too," Junmyeon says. 

Jisoo thinks for the rest of the call how to tell Junmyeon how he really feels, but sometimes he feels like he isn't sure. When Junmyeon sleepily thanks him for the painting, he realizes he is sure. He's never been more sure of anything. 

  
₩

 

He shows up to the office the next day, wondering how it will all play out. His secretary greets him, and he nods in her direction.

“Let me know,” Jisoo says, “whenever my father gets the message.”

“Yes, sir,” she says, and Jisoo nods in return.

He walks into his office, tries to keep himself busy. He responds to a few emails, random, inconsequential things. He writes a few memos, but none of it really matters. The day is spent waiting for news. Who gets the deal?

It’s just after lunch when his father bursts into his office, a bright white grin split across his face.

“We got it,” his dad says. “We fucking got it.”

And there’s so much pure joy in his father’s voice that he almost forgets the ramifications of it. What it means that they’ve won.

Whenever someone wins, someone else loses.

The party is immediate, and the entire company celebrates. A year ago, even a few months ago, it would have been the best day of Jisoo’s life. He’s richer than he’s ever been, Junmyeon’s poorer than he’s ever been, and in one of the biggest, best battles between their businesses, Jisoo has come out on top. He should feel happy. He should feel _ecstatic._ He should be shotgunning a beer.

Instead, he feels sick.

Jisoo watches the numbers on his phone as everyone cheers around him. Junmyeon’s stock plummets. Falls like demolished buildings. Like meteors from the sky. His stomach sinks right along with it.

“What do you look so upset about?” his father asks.

“Nothing,” Jisoo says.

His father turns away, opens another bottle of champagne.

 

₩

 

 _come over_ , is the only text that he gets afterwards, and Jisoo feels no satisfaction in it. All he feels is guilt and a desperate need to go to him. To comfort him.

Jisoo zips home and takes his Bugatti Chiron, rose-gold chrome wrapped. He doesn’t take it because it’s flashy; he takes it because it’s his fastest car.

When he gets to Junmyeon’s building, he’s let in immediately, they know him now, and he all but runs to the elevator. The ride up is slow, and Jisoo bites at his fingernails as he waits.

The doors finally ding open, and he shoves his hands in his pockets as he strides in, looking for Junmyeon.

Jisoo finds him crumpled up on his obnoxious white leather couch.

And he’s wearing sweats.

Gucci sweats, but sweats all the same. Grey and soft and a little threadbare. Small on him, like he’s had them for years. There’s a stripe of skin showing at his stomach where the sweatshirt is rucked up. It’s...it’s different. His eyes look red, his hair is wet like he’s just gotten out of the shower.

“You didn’t come to gloat, did you?” Junmyeon asks quietly, not bothering to turn to face Jisoo.

“No,” Jisoo says. He sits next to Junmyeon on the couch, a hand on his back. “I came because you asked me to.”

“Okay,” Junmyeon says.

They don’t say anything for a while, but Jisoo keeps his hand on Junmyeon’s back and after a few moments, he starts to rub in little circles. Junmyeon relaxes into it, eventually turns over to look at Jisoo.

“Feels good,” he says.

“Good,” Jisoo answers.

Silence stretches on again, but Junmyeon makes room for Jisoo to lay behind him on the couch, so Jisoo folds Junmyeon into his body and holds him.

He strokes fingers light along the back of Junmyeon’s neck, pushing into the knots where he can feel the tension. Junmyeon groans when he digs in, and his body snaps like a rubber band whenever Jisoo relents.

“Have you eaten?” Jisoo asks.

“No,” Junmyeon answers.

“I’ll get something,” Jisoo says, and he makes to sit up.

Junmyeon tightens Jisoo’s arm around him, though, keeps him lying there behind him.

“Stay with me,” Junmyeon says. “Just...just for a little while longer.”

Jisoo holds Junmyeon in a tight embrace and waits until his breathing evens out, waits until his eyes close and he snores lightly, before he extricates himself and calls for fried chicken.

 

₩

 

Jisoo meets the delivery kid outside and walks back up with the bag of food. When he’s back in Junmyeon’s penthouse, he closes the door quietly. Walks to the kitchen, pulls out the boxes.

Junmyeon stirs with the smell of the food, and Jisoo’s heart clenches. He sits up, rubbing his eyes. He looks young, incredibly young, like this. They play like adults, but they’re really kids in suits too big for them. Swimming in fabric.

He pads over to the counter, white marble and gleaming.

“Did you get wings?” Junmyeon asks.

Jisoo pushes over the box, watches as Junmyeon opens it and smiles.

“There’s beer in the fridge,” he says. “Can you…”

Jisoo walks over, grabs two tall cans.

“Thank you,” Junmyeon says.

“Yeah,” Jisoo replies. “No problem.”

Junmyeon is a lightweight, Jisoo knows that now, so it’s funny to watch him pop the tab on the beer and start to chug it.

“Slow down,” Jisoo chides.

Junmyeon sets the can down on the countertop, not bothering for a coaster, before he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I don’t know if you know this,” Junmyeon smiles, “but I had kind of a bad day today.”

Jisoo bites at his smile.

“It’s okay,” Junmyeon says. “You don’t have to...you don’t have to do that.”

“I’m not doing anything,” Jisoo says.

Junmyeon takes another sip of his beer.

“I don’t need you to pity me,” Junmyeon says.

“I don’t,” Jisoo says.

“Good,” Junmyeon says.

“Good,” Jisoo says back, and he’s left with the vague feeling that they’ve just had an argument, so he tries to rectify it. “I’m...I just wanted to be here for you.”

“Okay,” Junmyeon says. “That’s fine. That's...that's good." 

Jisoo stays quiet, takes a sip of his beer.

“When did it change for you?” Junmyeon asks.

“When did what change?” Jisoo asks.

“When did you stop wanting me to fail?” Junmyeon asks.

“I don’t know,” Jisoo says. “Probably--God, this is going to make me sound like such an asshole, but probably after we had sex. I hated you for a long time, but not in...not in a real way. In an imaginary way, I guess. After we finally did it, it...it got harder to pretend.”

“Roleplay,” Junmyeon says as he stares off into the middle distance.

“Y-yeah,” Jisoo says. “Just roleplay.”

“Hate sex is fun,” Junmyeon says.

“Regular sex is good too,” Jisoo says.

Junmyeon looks up at that. He looks tired. Jisoo wishes he could fix it, wishes he could take everything back.

“I like you, you know,” Junmyeon says. “As stupid as that is, I think I always liked you. Since the first time I met you.”

“Yeah,” Jisoo says. “Me too.”

“And even now,” Junmyeon says. “My life fucking crumbling down around me, I’m still...I’m still fucking _happy_ for you.”

Tears fall down his face, and Jisoo doesn’t want this anymore. He doesn’t want it at all.

“Come here,” Jisoo says, pulling Junmyeon into his arms, holding him by the back of the neck. “Shh.”

“I’m not a baby,” Junmyeon says, sniffling.

“Just let me baby you,” Jisoo says. “You had a bad day.”

Junmyeon shudders through an inhale, then shakes through his exhale.

“Yeah,” Junmyeon says. “I did.”

“It’s okay,” Jisoo says. “I’m here. For the bad days.”

Junmyeon pushes him back by the chest, gets a good look at Jisoo. Junmyeon’s eyes are all red again.

“Yeah?” Junmyeon asks. “For the bad days?”

“And the good days too,” Jisoo says. “And...and if you want me to pay for shit. I got you.”

Junmyeon squeezes his eyes shut tight.

“Sounds kind of like what a boyfriend would say,” Junmyeon says.

“I guess I kinda want to be your boyfriend,” Jisoo shrugs.

Junmyeon hides a smile, hugs Jisoo close. They stand there as the food goes cold, the beer goes warm. They can hold each other together, Jisoo realizes. They don’t need money for that.

 

* * *

 

₩

 

_epilogue: +three months_

 

₩

 

“What do you have for me, Seoyon?” he asks.

“A ten-thirty with Oh Shiwoo, eleven-thirty with the marketing team, and then a three o’clock with your father and the Vice President,” she says.

“Wonderful,” Jisoo says, clicking the reminders into his phone. “Anything for the morning?”

“The American account,” she says. “Your father wanted you to lead.”

_Lead?_

“Lead?” he asks.

“Lead,” she said. “He left a memo. In case you were confused.”

He reaches over, grabs it. There’s a sticky-note at the top in his father’s handwriting: _you have become the son I always knew you could be._

Jisoo stares down at it, and the feeling that swells in him is pride.

“Thank you,” he says. “I’ll make that my focus until the Oh meeting.”

“Alright,” she says, and she taps it into her computer. “Anything you need from me this morning?”

“Yeah,” he says, and he reaches into his bag, pulls out the box. “You’ve been with me from the start, so I figured you deserved something after all this…”

He sets the blue box down on her desk, and when she flips it open and gasps, he knows he did good. 18 karat white gold and sapphires. Blue is her favorite color. He knows because he checked.

“Y-you didn’t have to do this,” Seoyon says.

“Ah,” Jisoo says. “Just wanted to.”

He taps her desk happily before walking off to his adjoining office.

“Oh,” Seoyon says abruptly, and he turns. “Also…”

“Yes?” he asks.

“Junmyeon called before you got in,” she says. “He told you he emailed you the reservation.”

“Ah, thank you,” Jisoo says before pointing back at the bracelet. “And I hope you like it.”

“I do, very much,” she smiles. “Thank you.”

A sign of good things to come, he hopes. 

 

₩

 

Junmyeon has bounced back. Jisoo knew that he would. 

“Everyone loves an underdog,” Junmyeon says, cutting into his steak. “And look at me now. I have more clients than you, motherfucker.”

“I still won,” Jisoo says.

“And I’m still surging,” Junmyeon says. “Did you check our stock? Go check.”

“No phones at the table,” Jisoo says.

“You only listen to that rule when I’m about to serve your ass on a silver platter,” Junmyeon says. “We’re almost back to where we were before.”

“All thanks to you,” Jisoo says. “Smartest thing your father ever did was put you in charge.”

“We can’t stay young and dumb forever,” Junmyeon says. “It was time for us to grow up.”

“We did a pretty good job, I think,” Jisoo says. “Only one thing left to do.”

“Oh?” Junmyeon asks, taking a sip of his wine. “And what’s that?”

Jisoo pulls out the box out of his pocket, slides it across the tabletop.

Junmyeon looks down. Sees the color.

“What the fuck is that?” he asks, not taking his eyes off it.

“Open it up and find out,” Jisoo says.

“You’re not even gonna make it romantic?” Junmyeon asks like it’s some joke, like Jisoo’s pulling a prank, like he’s waiting for the _gotcha_.

“I’ll get on my knees for you later,” Jisoo says.

“You’re disgusting,” Junmyeon says, snatching the box up as he rolls his eyes.

And then he cracks the box open. His mouth drops open.

“What the fuck did you do?” Junmyeon asks quietly.

“I bought you something,” Jisoo says.

He reaches into his pocket. Slides his on his finger. Sets his hand on the table.

“It matches mine,” Jisoo adds as he flashes the ring from side to side.

“What the fuck,” Junmyeon says. “What the fuck.”

“I didn’t know what kind of engagement ring you’d want,” Jisoo says. “Or if you’d want one at all.”

“I--”

“So I got us these,” Jisoo says. “And if you hate them, the return policy is lenient. I mean, I spent forty thousand dollars when I just went in to look, I’m pretty sure they’d let me run naked through the Apgujeong store if I really wanted.”

“Jisoo,” Junmyeon says, voice quiet as he stares down at the ring.

"The salespeople really go all out with that shit," Jisoo says. "I mean, one minute I'm staring at VVS, and the next, I'm getting an earful about the love of my life and what they  _deserve,_ and--" 

Junmyeon interrupts sharply.

“Jisoo!” 

“Yeah?” Jisoo asks.

Junmyeon's eyes flick up. They're with tears.

“Yes,” Junmyeon says.

Jisoo lets go of the breath he’s been holding all day, all month, all year, ever since they first met. He breathes back in, and for the first time in his life, he feels like he’s found something worth the money.

**Author's Note:**

> writing for a pair this rare is like screaming into the void. HELLOOOOOOOO 
> 
> anyway i love these two idiots. i hope you enjoyed. leave a kudos or a comment to encourage me to be awful more consistently. if u did not enjoy, i'll owe u one


End file.
